Can't Smile Without You
by Fifth-Jupiter
Summary: Life is lived in moments. Moments that end in happiness, such as when Hawke had forgiven him. Moments that end in anger, as with Danarius' death. But this is the one moment that can only end in emptiness.


It was Hawke's idea.

It was always Hawke's idea, really. They don't mind, none of them do; he had learned this long ago. Aveline's grousing as she walked behind him down the sandy, worn path of the Coast was only for show. Had Varric been there, he would have made his displeasure known as well. Most of the others would. His own complaints had died out long ago, three long years before, and had not risen again. Even then, he knew he would follow her anywhere. Now, though, he did not need to hide it.

"Almost there!" Hawke called from the rise ahead as if they had not walked this same path many times before. She turned and smiled down at them, the sun behind her casting her in shadow.

Aveline huffed, a weary noise to cover her amusement. "Careful Hawke," she called out. "You'll lose your footing."

"It's quite easy to slide here, isn't it?" The blood mage spoke as she walked as well, testing each step curiously now.

Fenris frowned; he had to, to conceal the faint smirk that threatened. He could easily picture Merrill toppling from one wrong step. He kept an eye on her as he moved forward. When he crested the hill, Hawke's smile pulled his forth.

"What?" She asked, turned her face to look up at him now. He shook his head once, but Hawke would not have it. Of course. She pressed forward, stood on the tips of her toes to bring herself more level to his height. He laughed in surprise, but was not caught by it when she started to tip and lose her balance from the sand. His arm shot out and he grabbed her around the waist.

She echoed his laugh, brought her winding arms under control and settled them on his shoulders. "Always good to have you along."

The smile persisted and he did not stop it. "I enjoy following you." He admitted, and saw how her eyes widened at the warmth in his tone. He thought he would feel embarrassment admitting it, but no burn came to the tips of his ears nor his neck; he truly enjoyed it.

Fenris began to grow troubled when her surprise remained. Had he not voiced his affections for Hawke enough? If she doubted him -

She kissed him, dry and quick but full of - warmth. Hawke pulled him down to meet her, held him like that even when they broke apart and looked into his eyes. "I would love for you to walk beside me." She breathed.

His doubts faded, and he chuckled more out of surprise than anything else. "My place is at your side."

"Our place is in the Bone Pit." Aveline cut in as she caught up to them. Fenris pulled back and met Aveline's hard stare with his own. Neither held an edge. The twitching of the corners of her mouth gave away her lack of severity. Merrill crested the hill soon after, hand raised to stifle her giggles as her too-large eyes blinked owlishly at them. He fought the instinct to look down, to avoid their eyes. This was no challenge - only teasing among friends.

"So it is!" Hawke agreed, turning from them to look over the rise. The path led down in a winding trail that ended in the caverns of the mine, carved by the blood and bones of the slaves. Each time they visited Fenris felt the foulness afresh, but this time - here and now - it was tempered.

Fingers slipped between his own, curled around his hand and squeezed. "Let's go." Hawke tugged with a grin. He let himself be led. Let himself be pulled, stepped up to walk beside her.

Stepped into the same patch of loose sand.

"Hawke!" Fenris' feet dug in, toes found purchase as he instinctively crouched and grabbed for the ground with his free hand. But there was nothing to hold tight, nothing to use as leverage and Hawke's hand slipped from his own. Her yelp cracked in the air and echoed on his ears as he watched her slide down the steep hill away from him, heart quickly beginning to pound in his ears.

Hawke slid, and she bumped herself, but when she rolled to the bottom she laughed. Fenris relaxed; an overreaction. She stood and brushed herself off, shot him another smile. "Just a shortcut!"

He could hear Aveline's own worry in her sigh, in her voice. "I swear, Hawke, you're going to get hurt."

"Nonsense!" Hawke lifted her arms and flexed, posing. "I'm the Champion!"

The words had barely left her mouth when she frowned, face pinched.

"Hawke?" Fenris called again, inquisitive now, but already he saw. It was so soon, such a whiplash, that he could not even feel horror.

The head of the arrow slid through her armor and part of the shaft followed before it stopped. It poked from her side - between two ribs, his mind supplied. Cloth was inadequate as far as protection went, he had always thought so, and now he was proven right as a dark stain began to spread. Hawke's mouth dropped open, and there was a split second where Fenris thought that she would shout and then laugh it off, pull out the arrow despite their protests.

The bizarre moment passed when two more arrows slammed into her, one through her belly and the next through her chest. All at once, Hawke crumpled.

Fenris watched. Fenris watched, and waited, because she would get up. But she didn't. And Aveline shouted, and Merrill cried out, but he did not know what they said. His hand released and he slid down the slope; they ran past him; his brands flickered to life as the air around him grew heavy with magic. He looked to Hawke where she lay, and he waited for her to get up.

It wasn't until the looters appeared that his mind caught up with him.

Blood roared in his ears, blood that pumped through him and blood that had spilled over Hawke. He was standing, running, but he didn't know when he got up; his brands burned to life and seared into him as he leapt over her and then they were before him. Faceless, nameless things of flesh that deserved nothing, not even the roaring of his own blood, not any blood, _not her blood_. He roared, he knew only from the pain that tore through his throat as he tore at them. He wasn't precise, didn't care to be because they had _dared_, they had _dared_ to touch her. He phased and ripped, tore holes through them and did not care what it pierced. Up to his elbows he felt the blood, their blood, the filthy blood that had drawn hers.

And when he was done, there was nothing left.

He stared down at the carnage. There was nothing human, only the stains of blood and the ripped remains. Faceless. Nameless. His shoulders heaved, each breath harsh and coppery. The ground grew damp beneath his feet.

"Fenris." Aveline said from behind him, voice choked. He looked, after a moment. His sword weighed heavily on his back, untouched and shielding him partially as he gazed back at her. Her eyes were red, tears spilled freely. He had never seen her cry.

"You're crying." She blinked at him. Her brow furrowed, fists clenched at her side.

"You're not." There was only the slightest edge of her normal steel in her voice. It threatened to crack. "She's..." Aveline gestured behind her; threw a fist back and then jerked it forward, a broken motion.

He walked around her, saw her turn to watch him as he passed. He could see where Hawke lay, curled at the foot of the hill. Merrill was on the ground beside her, had Hawke's head on her lap. As he neared, he could hear the soft, broken song that the blood mage sang. Fenris waited a step away until she had finished.

Merrill looked up at him, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Lethallan." She slurred. Where her eyes hadn't wept, her tongue had swollen it seemed. He nodded, calm, and stepped to kneel beside her.

Hawke stared up.

"Her wounds are untended."

Merrill blinked, owlish again. She found no words, it seemed. He gestured to the protruding arrows.

"She's still bleeding. Can you not close them?"

"She is gone." Each word was halting, disbelieving.

Fenris ignored them. "Can you or can you not? Your blood magic can not tend to them, but you must know something to slow the pain at least, until we can get her to the clinic." He leaned forward, brushed fingers along Hawke's arm. "Her estate would be more comfortable but-"

"Hawke is dead, Fenris." Merrill trembled, as did her words. Fenris looked back to her.

"If you cannot help her then fetch Anders."

"Fenris-" her voice rose, high with hysteria.

"Get. Anders." He rose to his knees and flung out his hands, pushed her back. Hawke's head dropped to the ground with a soft noise. Merrill scrambled and caught herself as she fell back, stared at him. And then, slowly, she rose to her feet. Aveline had appeared at her side.. The warrior would help convince the mage that this was no imagined emergency.

He returned his attention to Hawke as they started up the path in numb silence.

Fenris slid fingers beneath her head, searched for a bump or injury where it had hit the ground. He found none; the sand that padded the path had softened it, it seemed. He curled them into her hair, smiled weakly when the metal of his gauntlets tangled in hair. She hated that.

"My apologies." His voice rumbled deep in his chest, but it had to push past a weight to get out. Each word a pain; he swallowed to try and ease it.

His eyes caught hers as they stared up. Blue, like the sky. Blue, like it was supposed to be. He recalled how he had thought those the eyes of a demon, the first time he had seen them. How he had thought her possessed; another magister.

How she had proved him wrong.

Her chin jutted up, head tipped back as it was. It made her look defiant.

Metal-tipped claws brushed against her cheek. Fenris traced over the sloped cheeks, across her pointed nose. He touched the spot where it was crooked. Where she had spread blood, her own blood, as a taunt to the Arishok. Her lips, normally pink from blood inside, were now red with it. He brushed his thumb through the blood, smeared it rather than wiped it away. The jut of her chin, bone hard beneath soft skin.

His eyes lingered on the column of her throat. On the stillness of her breast.

Her chest stood still and the three arrowheads pushed up from it, strange in their shape. They don't belong. Each shaft stained red with blood, her blood.

The arrow was so fragile. It snapped in his hand. Left a jagged end behind, raised just above her skin. The next as well, and the last too. He dropped the pieces of wood - for that was all that they were now. Broken pieces of a weapon. Something to be discarded, forgotten.

Fenris took her hand, slid his fingers between hers.

"I gladly walk by your side."

His mouth was dry, like sand. His eyes burned and he could feel the building pressure in them, but they too felt dry. Dry and empty. He licked his lips, tried to push back the encroaching feeling, but it did nothing.

He gathered her in his arms, pulled her up against him. Her hair caught at his steel gauntlets as he held Hawke to his chest. Her fingers hung limp through his own.

* * *

"I never," he started.

She was cold in his arms. The sky had darkened, more black than gray. Fenris turned his head down, pressed his lips into her hair.

He had never said it. She had never, either. Not truly, not in so many words. But in so many actions.

A place by her side, even when he had scorned her. A willing ear on nights when his past caught up with him, when the terrors became real. Gentle hands against injuries he had worsened by refusing to let the mage tend them. Grim amusement at his insistence she be the only one to heal him. Hair brushed out of his eyes, a gentle gesture. How boldly she touched, simple things that passed as normal among the free. How she knew he would not harm her.

And he had tried to reciprocate. He truly had. A step to interpose between her and the danger. A fond smile, often hidden. A confession, an apology. And how he always, always followed.

But he had never truly told her.

"Hawke." He started again, drew back. "I- I've always -" but he could not. The words refused to be said. If he could not say them then, why should he be allowed to now?

* * *

Her blood clung to his armor as he clung to her.

"Up here."

Footsteps, growing closer. Fenris shut his eyes. Pressed his forehead against Hawke's.

A whisper, soft. "He hasn't moved."

They shouldn't be here. He didn't want them here.

The weight still hung in his chest. He swallowed again, wet sound that it made. Fenris laid Hawke on the ground and stood, looked to them. Aveline's eyes were red but her tears were tempered. Merrill looked - determined. It was in Anders, in the _spirit mage_, that he saw his own devastation reflected. Dulled eyes that looked to Hawke and lingered, barely saw anything else. A rigid defeat beneath the determined bravado.

"Hawke is injured."

The mage nodded, limp blond hair shaking with the jerking motion. He stepped forward and it contained none of the urgency he normally showed when one of his companions was injured. Fenris saw his own weariness in each step Anders took; he saw his own despair, and he truly began to feel it as an ache in his chest. A hole like he had made in so many others.

He watched as the mage knelt beside her. Anders' hands trembled as they found the broken tips of the arrows. He breathed through his mouth, slow, ragged things. His hands sought her heart, moved to her neck to find a pulse. Down to her hands then, when he found none. Back to her neck. Fenris pressed his chin to his chest, felt the burn behind his eyes worsen.

Anders passed a hand over her forehead, pressed against it. The air around them grew heavier with magic, the mage's hands glowed green. Nothing changed.

He closed her eyes. Looked up at Fenris and spoke the words he could not hear.

"She's dead."

* * *

He couldn't breathe. His scream caught in his throat, his panic throttled it and held it back as he hunched over. Cold sweat drenched his body and he curled fists into the sheets around his hips. The fabric tore beneath his fingers, tore and tore and tore even without his claws to rip it apart. Hawke's empty eyes were burned into his mind.

Fenris hiccuped, a mangled sob, the only kind of breath he could draw in. It was dark around him; dark, but not dark like the mansion. Here, the crimson coverings on the bed could be made out; the fire was bright, like she always kept it. But the sheets were _too_ soft and the pillows were _too_ comfortable and the mattress was _too_ \- anything. He couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand it, how could he? How could he be here? He looked to the other side of the bed - _her side_ \- and he saw -

A shape, not empty. A shape on the bed, and, and -

The mabari lifted its head, large sad eyes looked at him like they had ever since - ever since. The dog woofed, a low noise, and pressed closer. It laid its head against his thigh, pressed against him like somehow he could help it. Like just because they were both missing their hearts he could fix it, rather than just be a replacement.

His eyes found the desk across the room. The desk with the single piece of parchment where it still lay.

Fenris did not need to read it, with words halting and making no sense, to know what it said. He could still hear Bodahn reading it. He had smiled, or tried to, and Fenris had wanted to strike him. He had truly wanted to strike the dwarf. As if it would help.

To Aveline, she had left a dagger. Aveline's eyes had clouded, brows drawn together, and she had been - angry. A flash of anger. But she had been angry ever since the Bone Pit, and the anger was not new. She took the dagger, and left. Donnic followed, sympathetic words on his tongue, but they meant nothing.

To Carver, a shield. Ornate, the Hawke crest layered in gold. It sat in the foyer where it had been left. Carver had not been there.

To Anders, her books. Her books and her herbs, her collections - so much, and so little. The mage had held them in his hands and stared, stared at the ones he could carry. Blue lines cracked his skin and he had thrown them, threatened fire as it danced across his fingers. But he had left. The next day, the books had been gone.

To Merrill, a journal. A flower pressed between each page. Her tears had escaped then. Large, silent tears that rolled down her cheeks as she smiled and wiped them away so that they would not ruin the flowers.

To Isabela, she had left 'the pick of her clothes'. The pirate had snorted, acted contemptuous. She had left with Hawke's favorite cloak folded under her arm.

To Sebastian, she left her condolences and a prayer. His brows had pinched, eyes narrowed. He had stormed out.

To Varric, the wish that her end fit with his story and a bag full of coin. He laughed, pocketed a sovereign and looked down so that they did not see the way his eyes were swollen. He wore the sovereign on a thin cord around his neck.

And Fenris...

"To Fenris," Bodahn had cleared his throat again. The dwarf shot him a nervous look. He returned it with a careful, stony stare. "To Fenris," he started once more. "And to- to our children." The room had frozen, collectively caught. "If we were to have them." Bodahn added hurriedly, and then pressed on. "I leave my mansion and estate. I leave the Hawke name and the Amell fortune that has not been given elsewhere. I leave all that I have and ever will have. And I ask...I ask that they take care of themselves."

There had been more. She had left Orana and Bodahn and Sandal sums, trinkets as well, but he had not heard. He had not heard.

The mabari had padded over after the will was read, laid its head on his thigh as it did now.

She had thought - had wanted - with _him -_ children.

But all they had had - she had had - was too short of a time and too many fights and too much fear. And a dog. So he kept the dog - or the dog kept him, because -

Because she had said to take care of each other. As if he could _care_, now that she was gone. As if he could _live_.

How could he live without her?


End file.
